When I was younger, I never liked to go into antique stores. I felt the things were spooky and they stunk. I mean, who wants something someone else had, especially if it didn’t work anymore or had no use. Of course I’m speaking about butter churns and tractor parts.
Then I became older and began appreciating the stores. I’d have to say, in my area alone, four new ones have popped up within the last six months. The smell is still there. Something reminiscent of my grandmother’s basement, along with an extra layer of mildew. But I see the items in a new light.
It’s pretty bad when you can go into an antique store and recognize half the toys, having once played with them yourself. That’s what drew me in the first time, when I wasn’t with parents forcing me to go. The second time, I went because of my Etsy store. I figured I’d re-purpose something and try to sell it. But now with Etsy, if it meets a timeline, you can sell it as-is. But my first purchase didn’t. I bought a lamp. I think I paid under ten dollars for it. I took it home, cleaned it up, and took strawberry fabric and decorated a new lampshade for it. Actually it was the same lampshade, I just spun a new look to it. I listed it on my site, and a week later I had it sold. I was hooked.
So I became a regular at the antique shops. Looking, pricing, and imagining new purpose to many of the items. Alas, I bought the items…I just never sold them, again. As in, never listed them to sell. I became a quick antique hoarder. All of my good intentions now sit around my house. I love them all. Who could part with such savvy finds? I got a bit out of control, so I had to stop for awhile. That, and I don’t do too much with my Etsy site. I still have it, have items listed, but I’ve stalled at adding new things. Who can add when everything looks so wonderful on my own shelves?
This picture shown in the post is one of the things I found last spring. I walked around the store three times, eyeing it in different ways…sizing it up for rooms in my house….wondering how I could sneak it in without being seen. Finally, I snatched it from the ground where it lay. “French Lady in Blue Hat” was handwritten on the tag. The frame is even half-decent. It has a few chips, but nothing my OCD can’t handle. I just couldn’t leave her behind. They say if you see an art work that keeps tugging at you, buy it. You probably will never see it again. I passed on something once in my life, and regretted it. I couldn’t leave French Lady.
So it hangs beside my bed. It was a bit freaky in the beginning. At least she’s not looking at me sleep. And her eyes don’t follow you around the room. I certainly don’t regret it. It’s an original; you can see the brush strokes and dirty canvas from the back. I’m quite fond of it, now. I only wish it had a matching gentleman to hang on the other side of the bed. It doesn’t symmetrically match with a flower print. Oh well, I’m content with just her I suppose. 🙂